Belief in Angels
by OtakuLibra
Summary: In which Spock believes he is about to die, and what happens when he doesn't.


Of all the things Spock could be thinking of at the moment he knows he's about to die, he would never have guessed it would be his Captain's father. Not his mother, not _his _father, not Uhura. He is not thinking about dying. Even his human side is beyond panic, beyond fear. All that is left as he is watching the Narada draw nearer is the thought of George Kirk. And by extension, his son. Jim.

He had never been sure the Captain's—Jim's—plan would work. It had been a gamble then, and it was something worse than that now, but Spock had trusted him. When he spun the ship around the falling drill and jumped to warp, much as he had not wanted to leave his captain (purely logical, that), he had trusted him. When he set his collision course for Nero's ship, he had trusted him. And despite the fact that his mind is telling him he is about to die, something inside Spock still trusts him. Unequivocally.

Spock was not raised on fairy tales. Heroes and villains, knights and damsels, all—for lack of a better word—illogical. He knew even as a child that this is not the way the world works. Spock is hardly a knight, and Jim is anything but a damsel in distress. And yet… Spock understands this desire, this need to protect something precious.

The feelings welling up within Spock are not new, but they still surprise him. Even more startling, he realizes, there is no longer a need to hide the softening of his features, the gentle green blush on his face whenever he thinks of his Captain.

Knowing he is about to die, knowing it no longer matters, Spock, for the first time since he was a child, permits himself to feel.

And there go the alarms. He's getting close now.

Spock wonders absently when it was he fell in love with Jim Kirk. There was no universe-shattering revelation to let him know. There had only been hints, intimations: a look, a touch, a fluctuation in the tone of his voice. Any one of these might have tipped him over the edge.

Maybe it had been as early as the Kobayashi Maru hearing. That look just before Pike left the Enterprise. Jim crying out his name desperately just before he beamed onto Vulcan… It could have been any of these. Spock no longer cares.

This had long ago ceased being a process—falling—had hit equilibrium, and had transformed into a state of being.

And then it comes full circle. Back to George Kirk. And his son. Always, it would be Jim.

But of course, Spock's always is being swallowed in the darkness of the Narada. However, somehow the sentiment doesn't feel meaningless. Illogical, but true.

With Jim, it often seems to be both.

The computer is chirping something at him, but Spock ignores it. It doesn't really matter, anyway.

Spock doesn't believe in angels.

He forces himself to keep his eyes open, to soak in as much as he can in his last seconds. Irrationally, he almost thinks that if he can only keep his eyes open he might know if Jim and Captain Pike have escaped. As if he can _see_ them. If he can just…

Spock hasn't been raised on fairy tales. He doesn't believe in magic. He doesn't believe in God. But he prays to whoever will listen that this stupid, illogical, heroic sacrifice might not be meaningless after all.

He thinks perhaps George Kirk had wished the same thing.

The alarms are deafening.

The computer is still talking at him.

The ship is shuddering with impact.

And then—

And then he is standing in the transporter room. He gasps, and it feels so good just to _breathe_.

Almost before he has registered still being alive, he turns, eyes locked to what he hopes will be—

_Jim. _

And then Spock can _really _breathe again. His heart thuds in his side, but he makes no attempt to quell it. He holds Jim's gaze for a moment before stepping off the pad, incapable of stopping himself from glancing back, just to make sure that yes, he is alive, and all is right with the universe.

Jim falls into step beside Spock on the way to the bridge as if he's been doing it all his life. He grins at Spock as they enter the lift.

"Glad to see you're still alive, Mr. Spock," he says, teasing. Spock knows it is expected of him to add something humorous. And he knows enough about Jim to realize that this is a defense mechanism, this jocularity. But he can say nothing.

"Spock." He forces his eyes to meet striking blue. Jim's expression has softened considerably. The captain raises his hand ever so slowly, then seems to think better of it. "I'm sorry, Spock. I know." Spock has no doubt that he does, somehow.

"Let me help."

It isn't a smile on Spock's face, really it isn't. But for him, it is the equivalent of the grin stretching across Jim's lips.

It doesn't escape Jim's notice. His smile widens, and warmth shoots through Spock's body.

"Okay," Jim says. "Okay."

Spock doesn't have time to wonder what this means. The lift comes to a stop, and the doors slide open with a soft hiss. Jim steps forward, with Spock following immediately behind him. When they reach the center of the bridge, directly in front of the viewscreen, Jim brushes his hand against Spock's fingers. The Vulcan tries to ignore the shudder and the sudden heat that envelop his body.

He can hear Jim's voice, but faintly. "Hail them now."

Of course he had no idea. Freshman xenobiology is one thing, but knowing about Vulcan kissing. . . Spock could hardly expect his captain to understand that, of all things. The likelihood that Jim had known, had done it all on purpose, is smaller than Spock cares to calculate exactly.

So, naturally, he attempts to ignore it.

Spock can calculate the probability that _this _endeavor will fail easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It is another month before the paperwork is all in and repairs are made and orders have been given to the new crew of the _Enterprise_. Spock had spent most of his leave time on the Vulcan colony, aiding in the settlement effort. But he could not help thinking of those bright blue eyes, that understanding look. . .

"_Spock. Let me help."_

It is an illogical, emotional need, but Spock wants nothing more than to feel that again. The understanding, the connection, the knowing—telepathy or no—what the other is thinking. He misses that. No, not just that. _Him. _Spock misses him.

When he reaches San Francisco, one of the first things Spock hears is that Captain Kirk, the youngest captain of the newest flagship, still hasn't filled the most coveted position in StarFleet: his First Officer.

Spock is headed toward the dry dock almost as soon as the doors of the shuttle open. He brushes past a group of blushing, apologizing cadets almost without noticing. His mind races.

Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. Spock knows he is a competent officer, that is not what is in question. Much of the 'Fleet was lost in the Narada incident, so everyone left has been shifted around to accommodate. And if he cannot convince Captain Kirk to accept him as his First Officer, Spock may not be assigned to the Enterprise at all, and this thought causes a panic Spock will hardly acknowledge.

And then he steps onto the bridge, and the first thing he sees is smiling blue eyes. he freezes, anchored to the spot, unable to move. But there is something in Jim's smile that relaxes him, causing the sides of his mouth to tic upward.

"Permission to come aboard, Captain," he says, trying to keep his voice even.

"Permission granted."

The subsequent conversation is all a blur in Spock's mind. His memory is usually almost photographic, but, considering, he cannot blame himself for being a bit distracted.

Spock is about to move away, to go to his station, when Jim does it again. The touch. It is so light that for a moment Spock thinks he's imagined it. He feels his control slipping. So he forces himself to turn away, avoiding Jim's eyes as he retreats to his station.

He stares down at the console, calculating in his head the probability of Jim's intent, adding in this new variable, this second incident. But his grasping at the scientific method is shattered when he feels the force of Jim's gaze directed at the back of his head.

Finally, control breaks. He turns.

The look on Jim's face is simple, happy, and devastatingly clear. It is the look Spock has been waiting for without realizing he had been waiting for it.

Probabilities, doubts, and science be damned, Spock knows exactly what that look is saying.

It says, _I knew. _

Jim explains this to him later, or tries to, between fevered kisses, when they both know it's not necessary.

And so it begins.

* * *

Author's Note: The title "Belief in Angels" is a reference to the TOS episode "Galileo 7," and I've shamelessly stolen a quote from "Operation Annihilate" as well. I own neither, nor do I own the quotes I've taken from the movie (all of which I have hopefully transcribed correctly).


End file.
